


Yule Thank Me Later

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Softly and Tenderly, We Begin (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge) [6]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: CIRCE IS BACK BITCHES, Dancing, F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, Week 6, not so useless but definitely still very thirsty lesbians in love, slow burn continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Circe Hardbroom returns, and reminds Hecate that while you don't always get it perfectly right on the first try, you can still create something wonderful by trying again.Week 6/8 in the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge.





	Yule Thank Me Later

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a series. It's probably best to go back and read in order, lest ye be lost.  
> Particularly because you need to know who Circe is (hint: she's in the fic that bears her name, Chaos Thy Name is Circe).

The halls of Cackle’s Academy for Witches were positively brimming with activity, despite the fact that over half the student populace was currently away, celebrating the Yuletide holidays with their respective families. Ada had put Dimity in charge of decoration yet again, which meant there were garlands of holly and ivy winding through every room, orange and white candles tucked here and there to add a merry pop of light, along with magically-snowcovered boughs of evergreen adding spicy notes to the air. The girls had used cloves to meticulously craft designs into oranges, which were placed in brass bowls on all the sideboards throughout the main halls.

Even Hecate Hardbroom, with her more elegant standards, had to admit that the décor this year wasn’t entirely abysmal.

She pretended not to notice the fact that mistletoe had appeared, placed practically every three feet, down the entire length of the corridor from the headmistress’ office to the potions lab. A rather pointed hint, but nothing beyond Dimity’s usual gaucheness. In fact, she was relieved that for the most part, Dimity had restricted her remarks to the nonverbal.

Perhaps because she knew that her prompting wasn’t entirely necessary, these days. It had been nearly a month since Ada’s disappearance into an alternate reality, and her subsequent return. The fear of losing her had almost been too overwhelming for Hecate, who’d barely been able to function during her absence. And oh, the absolute relief when Ada returned! Hecate had been unable to leave her side at all the first night after, had slept at Ada’s bedside, too afraid of losing her again. She’d kept herself as close as she dared, constantly needing to feel Ada, to see her, to hear her voice, to truly know she was there.

And she had rarely let the woman out of her sight or her grasp since. The following week had been the midterm break, and Hecate had spent every single waking moment hovering over Ada. When Ada was in her office, Hecate was stationed in her usual chair by the fire, marking exams or reading a book. And when Ada moved around the castle, Hecate was at her shoulder, closer than a shadow. Thankfully Ada was kind enough never to remark on her deputy’s constant presence—if anything, she seemed to relish it, which was encouragement enough for Hecate.

After that, life intruded once again, but they fell into a new routine. Every morning, there were walks in the garden, Hecate’s arm looped through Ada’s, sometimes placing her other hand on Ada’s forearm, rubbing it gently as they walked, hips occasionally bumping together in a way that was both comfortable and provocative, a juxtaposition that Hecate couldn’t begin to understand. Every meal, Hecate’s left elbow usually rested against Ada's right elbow, a small anchor that had become so natural that once, when their seats were farther apart than usual, Hecate had suddenly felt off balance without the reassuring pressure. Every afternoon saw teatime, where their fingers brushed over teacups and little cakes, lingering with a tenderness that matched the smiles dancing in their eyes. And every night was ended with a long talk by the fire, reaching for Ada's hand one last time as she bid her pleasant rest. Nights spent berating herself for not doing more, not saying more, and mornings vowing to have less regrets, by the time the sun set again.

And every day, pushing herself to be braver. To take Ada’s hand as they walked down the corridor, always alert for oncoming students or staff. To stifle the fear that welled up in her chest every time she caught someone eyeing their physical closeness. To ignore the screaming _someone will see_ every time she smiled at Ada. To remind herself that it didn’t matter anymore, that this was no longer a thing to be hidden. This was no longer a bad case of unrequited love, to be concealed from the object of her affection at all costs. No, this was _requited_.

And this was _love_. Love that had yet to be formally announced, but still love nonetheless. She knew that Ada loved her, and Ada knew that she was loved in return. But words had never been Hecate’s strong suit, and words expressing and cataloguing her emotions were even less so. She would learn the words, she promised herself. She would learn every language in the world, if it could help her adequately quantify how she felt for Ada, if it could help Ada see how much she meant to Hecate.

Of all her charms and strengths, Ada’s patience was by far Hecate’s favorite, or at least the one for which she was the most grateful. The morning after Ada’s triumphant return from the alternate reality, she’d quietly thanked Hecate for calling her back, bringing her back where she belonged. And she’d confessed that during her time away, she’d seen so many paths their lives could have taken. Now she knew that everything they’d done in their lives, every choice they’d made, had simply moved them forward, to where they were now.

 _There’s no need to rush anything, Hecate,_ she’d smiled so warmly, and Hecate knew she meant every word of it, with every fiber of her being. _Everything is exactly as it should be. We have time. As long as I’m here, with you, I am content._

 _Content_. All well and good, except Ada deserved to be _ecstatic_. And Hecate was determined to give her just that.

Just as soon as she could find the courage to do so, of course.

And she _was_ , she reminded herself (Ada’s kindness was wearing off on her, she mused). She was finding that courage, every day, even if it was in the smallest and simplest of ways.

It certainly didn’t hurt that Ada reacted to each and every small step forward as if it were the return of the sun after the darkest, longest night. It certainly helped that Ada didn’t make any moves herself, rather letting Hecate find her balance, letting her move at her own pace, to keep from being overwhelmed by it all. Ada had faith in her, and to have the trust of someone as unerringly good as Ada Cackle meant all the world to her.

One day, Hecate would repay that faith, tenfold. Today, she would settle for a few gentle caresses and more than few warm smiles. _Baby steps_. _Still steps_.

The girls were bounding about the castle, yelling joyfully to one another (perhaps even louder than necessary, taking full advantage of the fact that for once, HB wasn’t shushing them) as they returned from an impromptu sledding session on the hills outside the castle walls. Dimity was just as bad, calling out to the other staff members and yelling down the hallways about what a good time they’d missed.

Ada, of course, had joined them. And while Hecate would have gladly tagged along, she unfortunately did have to wait around for a delivery of a very important bit of lab equipment, so she’d declined the invitation, her heart bruising at the sight of Ada’s blue eyes losing just a fraction of their twinkle.

 _I’ll make it up to you_ , she had promised silently, hoping that Ada would understand.

She was waiting in the foyer when Ada bustled in, cheeks glowing from the winter chill. She’d planned to smile warmly, to welcome Ada back, to be pleasant and kind and loving.

Instead, she found herself frowning at Ada’s bare hands, her tone certainly not falling into the category of _pleasant_ or _warm_ , the words coming as sharply as the winter wind. “Ada Cackle, where are your mittens?”

“I just took them off, Hecate,” Ada was unfazed by her deputy’s tone. She had learned years ago that Hecate Hardbroom expressed concern rather aggressively—while her heart reacted out of love, it usually voiced itself through fear or anger. Also, the question gave her an excuse to reach out, taking Hecate’s hand in her own, so she didn’t mind it much at all.

“See? Still warm.”

The action flustered Hecate, whose eyes darted to the girls moving around them. Again, Ada understood the action—fear for Ada, a desire to protect Ada’s reputation, not embarrassment or shame for their actual relationship.

Truth be told, Ada Cackle didn’t give a damn. During the last few years, she’d learned the very hard and painful way that a reputation, no matter how diligently crafted and proven over the decades, could be destroyed at the drop of a hat, an single errant word from a bitter and lying mouth. It was a worthless prize, and one she no longer had any interest in pursuing.

The exact opposite could be said about her view of the woman standing before her. Some days she felt as if she might burst into flames, consumed by all the things she wanted to say and do to Hecate Hardbroom. But she waited, kept silent, kept her hands (relatively) tame, knowing that it would be worth it in the end—it was _already_ worth it, worth the wait and the build and the burn.

Because despite her cautious glances, Hecate still hadn’t removed her hand from Ada’s. Instead, she used it to pull the headmistress closer, her voice lowering as she quietly intoned, “There was something I wanted to—”

“Heck!” A voice rang out, causing both witches to jump. Ada whirled around to see Circe Hardbroom standing in the open doorway, arms open in a gesture of delight. Again, Ada was struck by how much she favored her sister—if her elder sister had a complete personality transplant and became a forest-dwelling greenwitch who preferred living with wild animals over people.

“Oh dear goddess above,” Hecate murmured. Ada stifled a laugh. Hecate’s wild younger sister, running loose through the halls of Cackle’s—it was a living nightmare for the potions mistress.

“And dear Miss Cackle,” Circe was smiling warmly, moving forward to greet them both. Her headful of riotous curls were glistening with snow and her skin was rubbed red from the bitter wind, but she didn’t seem fazed in the least.

With two flicks of her wrist, Hecate closed the heavy outer door behind Circe and dried the snow-soaked hems of her flowing robes.

“Well met, Miss Circe,” Ada genuflected. She couldn’t call the younger woman Miss Hardbroom, it was much too confusing.

“Well met indeed,” Circe’s dark eyes, so like Hecate’s, were dancing with mischief, as usual. “I must apologize for crashing the impending festivities, but seeing as Hecate decided to cancel our usual holiday plans this year, I felt I had no choice.”

Ada looked back at Hecate, her blue eyes wide with surprise. Every year, Hecate Hardbroom spent the night of Winter Solstice away from the academy—for all their years of friendship, Ada had never asked, mainly because she got the distinct feeling that Hecate didn’t want to tell. Now she understood two things: that for all these years, she’d been spending the holiday with her baby sister, and that this year, she’d chosen to stay. At the Academy. With Ada.

It was the second thing that made her smile like an absolute fool.

However, Hecate wasn’t smiling—she was too busy looking at Circe as if she were a bull in a chinashop. “Circe, you can’t simply show up—”

“Ah, but as you can see, I _did_ ,” Circe held up her finger, refuting her sister’s point. “And now that I’m here, it’d be terribly bad form to refuse me. I am your favorite sister, after all.”

“My _only_ sister,” Hecate returned dryly, for what must have been the thousandth time.

Circe spared a wink at Ada, “Still counting it as a win.”

Dimity Drill rounded the corner, her face lighting up with delight. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in!”

Circe produced a sound that was an eerily spot-on _meow_. “Well met, Dimity Drill. And many happy Yuletide greetings to you and yours.”

“Well met, and all good wishes to you as well,” Dimity joined the group of women, looking around expectantly. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to ever see your face again.”

“Good to know I’ve still got the element of surprise on my side,” Circe offered a winning grin.

There was a small thumping sound at the door, and Circe hurried over to open it. With a gushing grin, she exclaimed, “Well, there you are! I thought you’d given up on me, for sure!”

The latecomer was a rather large hare, who hopped into the foyer, fluffing its frozen fur.

“So it begins,” Hecate intoned quietly, and again, Ada fought back a grin. Circe was distracted, wrapping the hare in the folds of her cloak and chattering away with the animal as if it were an old friend.

Ada took the reprieve to turn back to her deputy head with a smile, “Let her stay, Hecate. You can’t just turn her out, after she’s traveled all this way.”

“That’s the risk you run when you show up _uninvited_ ,” Hecate returned quietly. But Ada could tell that she wasn’t arguing the point, not truly. Circe Hardbroom was her elder sister’s achilles heel.

Still, Ada now had nothing but absolute affection for the younger Hardbroom sister. After all, it was her outrageous antics that had gotten Ada and Hecate to finally admit to their mutual attraction. None of their current bliss would have been possible without Circe’s chaotic influence.

“Come along,” Dimity was motioning for Circe to follow her. “That poor bunny needs a nice warm fire, and the girls would love to have a new playmate.”

Hecate and Ada followed after them, Ada quickly magicking her cloak and hat away. The fact that Hecate actually walked all the way to the great hall, rather than transferring, was a testament to how little she trusted her sister roaming the hallways of her academy.

Dimity and Circe were chattering away about the weather, Circe’s journey to the Academy, and even Dimity’s newest broom, which was a present to herself. This instantly made Hecate suspicious, as she’d sworn that they’d only met once before. The idea of immediately having such easy rapport with someone was an absolutely foreign concept to her, and the realization that it was possible only made her feel alien yet again.

“You alright, my dear?” Ada asked gently, her voice lined with care.

“Of course,” Hecate gave a curt nod. “It’s just that the last time my sister showed up unannounced, I was saddled with a fake fiancé and became the subject of gossip rag scrutiny. So I must admit, I’m not the most… _relaxed_ , given the circumstances.”

Ada hummed in amused understanding. Still, she pointed out, “Well, I like to think that particular scenario turned out rather nicely, don’t you?”

Hecate realized the meaning behind her words, because she stopped, looking at Ada as if seeing her anew. Then, with a smile so deep that it etched every line of her face, she murmured, “Yes, I suppose it did.”

Now it was Ada who became shy, ducking her head and biting her lip—because if she kept looking at Hecate, kept feeling that overwhelming amount of unmasked adoration shimmering upon her skin like the rays of the sun, then she would _have_ to kiss that woman, and now was neither the time nor the place for such a thing.

_Hecate, Hecate, Hecate, take your time but oh, could you not murder me with anticipation while you do it?_

Dimity opened the doors to the great hall with a flourish, and Circe adequately oohed and ahhed over the decorations. The girls were all around the fire with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, turning to inspect the newcomer with unbridled interest, in the open, unabashed way that only children can possess.

“Well met, tiny sisters,” Circe chirped happily. She held up the hare. “I brought dinner!”

The looks of absolute horror on the girls faces made Dimity erupt into peals of laughter, which Circe and Ada quickly joined with giggles of their own. Even Hecate cracked a smirk. However, Circe quickly allayed the girls’ fears of a bunny sacrifice and was soon curled up on the rug with them, a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and the other still stroking the hare, who now dozed peacefully in the warmth. The topic of Yuletide festivities came up, naturally, and Circe had the girls clamoring for a Yuletide ball, much to Hecate Hardbroom’s chagrin.

“Oh, yes, that sounds lovely!” Dimity chimed in, turning to Ada with an expectant expression. “We could get Gwen to play, I know she’d love to!”

Within a matter of minutes, Miss Bat and Mr. Rowan-Webb were convinced to join the group, Gwen happily installing herself at the organ above the great hall, the rafters rumbling to life with sound. The girls danced with each other like baby giraffes finding their legs for the first time, clumsy and hesitant. Mr. Rowan-Webb easily slipped Dimity onto the dancefloor, laughing and smiling as they whirled around the room.

Soon, it was evident that the girls would need some pointers.

“Well, it’s rather easy, isn’t it?” Circe stepped forward, holding up the hare like a dancing partner. With a deft nod towards her sister and the headmistress, she called, “Heck, grab Miss Cackle and demonstrate proper form.”

“I can’t,” Hecate whispered, so low that only Ada could hear.

“It’s not hard,” Ada assured her.

“No, I can dance perfectly well,” Hecate spoke quickly, her eyes shutting for the briefest of moments. And it wasn’t a lie—their mother had forced them through deportment lessons for years, and both Hardbroom girls could take on any ballroom step with the lightest of ease. But she’d never danced during her tenure at Cackle’s Academy, and certainly never with the blonde woman who was currently smiling up at her expectantly.

Ada felt a wave of confusion, but she didn’t press the matter.

Circe was not so lenient. “C’mon, Heck, chop chop!”

Ada could actually hear Hecate’s teeth grinding. Still, the potions mistress offered her hand to Ada, gently guiding her further onto the main floor, her dark eyes desperately searching for anything to land upon except Ada’s face.

And while Ada certainly understood her fears and concerns, it didn’t hurt any less, witnessing how much Hecate loathed this moment. Knowing that everyone else saw it, too. Why couldn’t Hecate simply take this chance to dance with her?

“Start with a waltz,” Circe called out.

Hecate cleared her throat slightly, ducking her head as she raised her voice so that the girls could hear her. “It’s—it’s rather simple, really. Just place your hands like so….”

She delicately wrapped her fingers around Ada’s wrist, guiding the hand to her shoulder before placing her own on Ada’s waist. Her other hand took Ada’s, and the blonde saw her deputy’s eyelids flutter, ever-so-slightly. The hall filled with light shuffling as the girls quickly adjusted their bodies to match their two teachers’.

“Now. It’s a three-quarter time, so you can easily keep the count in your head,” Hecate glanced over at the nearest pair of girls, one of whom happened to be Enid Nightshade. The girl was grinning much too happily, Hecate decided. They’d never take her seriously in potions class, after this. Never take the work seriously, either, by extension.

Why did Circe always have to cause a ruckus whenever she appeared?

It was Ada’s voice, interrupting her sour musings, leading the girls through the next steps. “All you have to do is think of drawing a box—with your feet.”

Hecate looked down at Ada, awash with a renewed sense of gratitude. With a slight nod, she moved forward, taking the lead as Ada smoothly followed.

_Try not to notice the swish of Ada’s skirt. Try not to feel the way her body moves beneath your hand. Try not to look her in the eye or you’ll lose it all—your concentration, your rhythm, your reserve, your entire damn mind, Hecate Hardbroom._

For all her inward turmoil, Hecate’s outward appearance was her usual stoic expression, her rigid posture allowing just enough flexibility to properly perform the steps. Ada’s eyes were met with a mask of indifference, which wasn’t much of an improvement from Hecate’s original reaction.

 _She’s shut down_ , Ada realized. _Completely compartmentalized_.

She’d seen that look before. Hecate Hardbroom had an innate ability to put mind over matter, to bear the burden of any task and carry on through anything, no matter what. A trait that was generally met with admiration. But right now, Ada was finding it hard to see it in a positive light. Confusion muddled her emotions—why on earth was Hecate acting like this? What had happened, what had Ada missed? Had she done something, said something wrong?

No. Whatever was going on, it was happening entirely inside her deputy’s brilliant, beautiful, and at times frustratingly neurotic head.

They were definitely going to have a talk about this, later.

The music ended and Hecate quickly stepped back, releasing Ada as if she’d been holding a red-hot iron. She cleared her throat, smoothed her expressive hands over the lines of her immaculate skirt, and then quickly headed for the door, giving out excuses about some new lab equipment that needed tending.

Her one saving grace was that as she brushed past Ada, she quietly murmured, “Forgive me, please.”

* * *

The roof was the best place to think—especially given that this time of year, no one else even considered coming up here, due to the cold and sharp winds that whipped through the maze of spires and towers. Add a shielding spell so that no one could locate you, and you could buy yourself several hours of uninterrupted peace.

Except there was no peace to be found. Hecate was much too busy berating her actions in the great hall, replaying Ada’s hurt expression in her mind, over and over again.

 _Oh, I hadn’t meant to hurt you, not like that, not ever._ Her skin simmered with regret, physically _ached_ , as if someone had scrubbed her raw with steel wool _. Hecate, you absolute idiot, you’ve ruined everything, as usual._

She had the distinct premonition that Ada wouldn’t let this one go. Nor should she—she _should_ chastise Hecate for her behavior, should finally decide to give up on this strange attempt at romance and move on to someone who would easily scoop her into their arms and glide her around the floor without a moment’s hesitation, without fear and worry over the opinions of a few children, without being overwhelmed by her mere presence like some hormonal awkward teen who’d never touched another girl before.

Hecate’s pride bridled at the thought. She knew the things whispered about her, the assumptions most people made when they took in her clothing, her fastidiousness, her demeanor as uptight as her bun ( _frigid, virgin, repressed, unfuckable_ )—and usually, she didn’t care (much). She held her truth like little pebbles, secrets collected in a jar. Yes, she’d gotten a bit of a late start, not crossing that line until her university days, but it hadn’t exactly been a barren wasteland since then. Ever the scientist, she’d explored her own body, then applied those discoveries to her partners, collecting more data and adapting to understand that every lover was different, as was every coupling, and should be treated accordingly. Her greatest lesson learned was that simply by focusing on her partner, she could easily learn their likes and dislikes, without any discussion on the matter at all. Attentiveness was key.

What would she learn from Ada? A harsh voice in her head replied, _Most likely nothing at all, since she’ll abandon you long before you get a chance to know._

She pulled her fur-lined cloak tighter, as if trying to ward off the chilling thought. While the thought of being with Ada in that manner was undeniably enticing, that wasn’t her main concern. She needed to get them back to the place of contentment first.

Ada couldn’t be content with the way this afternoon’s dance lesson had ended. Hecate needed to prove her remorse.

With a heavy sigh that settled into her stomach like bile, she finally admitted defeat.

She was well and truly going to have to talk about her feelings. A sit-down, bare-all, bleeding, messy talk.

It would not be pleasant, she acknowledged. But it was necessary, and it was for Ada. Therefore, it would happen.

Again, her mind drifted back to past lovers, past partners who couldn’t possibly fit under the title of _lover_ at all. Even the first hadn’t been as awkward and uncertain as her attempts at courtship with Ada.

She knew why, and the answer scared her—no one else had mattered, not truly, not as much as this did. And, with startling clarity, she also realized that none of those relationships had begun while she was sober. Every encounter had been prefaced with some witches brew, or even once, a seer’s herbs at a ritual. Some substance had always been responsible for allowing her brain to relax, to disconnect enough to simply enjoy the moment, rather than overanalyzing it. Now, any follow-up encounters with a partner were usually done so sober, but by then, the awkwardness was gone, or at least much more bearable.

Definitely not a healthy approach, but apparently an effective one. Hecate turned on her heel, quietly pacing over the ice-covered stones. If it worked for sex, could it work for talking about emotions? Granted, in her book, she’d peg sex as the less intimate of the two activities, but surely, it could help. Could loosen her tongue, loosen the grip of her own neurotic self-awareness enough to let her say what needed to be said. What Ada needed to hear. Then, the next time would be easier, and sober.

Hecate did realize that it wasn’t the best plan, but considering that this discussion was going to happen long before she ever summoned the amount of courage necessary for such an endeavor on her own, it seemed like her only option.

Witches brew it was, then.

* * *

 

Circe insisted on a tour of the castle, which Dimity gladly obliged. And while the tour was rather fascinating, it wasn’t exactly what Circe had in mind. So once the tour was ended, she asked to be shown to her sister’s quarters, to get a little rest before dinner. Once Dimity had left her alone, she took off through the halls like a shot, the fully-recovered hare bounding behind her as they skittered around abandoned corners and wound up narrow staircases.

Eventually, she found her way on to the wide walkway between battlements, picturesquely dusted in snow. Across the expanse, she saw the dark outline of her elder sister, tightly wrapped up in a heavy cloak and just as deeply enveloped in her own thoughts.

Circe quickly magicked a warm cloak of her own (apologizing to the hare for her rabbit-fur hat) before bridging the distance between them, trying to scuff her feet on the frozen stone as much as possible to alert Hecate to her presence.

It worked, because Hecate turned slightly, slowly, arching a single brow as she took in her sister. “I thought you didn’t harm animals in any form.”

A reference to the hat. Circe gave a careless shrug. “Ah, my morals are more based on convenience, not commitment.”

Hecate merely hummed. After a small silence, Circe asked, “You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

“Never,” her sister returned gently, over three decades’ worth of love and adoration in every syllable. Wryly, she amended, “Never for long, anyways.”

Circe smiled, shifting closer so that their shoulders bumped together. “Still, I do need to apologize.”

“I’m the one who cancelled our—”

“No, no, not for showing up unannounced,” Circe shook her head quickly, her unkempt curls bouncing around her face. With a soft smile, she continued, “For not seeing it sooner. For not realizing why you could never marry Max.”

Hecate turned to her, face filled with cautious confusion.

“Because you already have someone,” Circe pushed further, eyes locked onto her sister’s face, watching for any hint of confirmation. Hecate’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and that was all Circe needed. “Oh, Heck, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I…it’s only just begun,” Hecate’s voice was impossibly soft. “And…I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Everything.” That word, meant to encompass the entire universe, sounded so heartbreakingly small.

Circe’s arm slipped beneath her sister’s cloak, wrapping around Hecate’s waist in a half-hug. “How can you be afraid, when your eyes practically turn into hearts every time you look at her?”

Hecate looked at her fondly, like she was still a small child with no idea how the world worked. “Because hearts have fear in them, too, Kirk.”

Then she frowned, looking out at the snow-covered forest around the castle. “And the fear is…still based in love. I want her to be happy, to have no regrets, to never want to….”

She didn’t finish her thought, dark eyes wistfully fixed on the treeline. With a slight shake of her head, she switched gears, “I am not a free spirit, Circe, able to just go with the flow—”

“Hm, yes, I think I may have noticed that.”

Hecate shook her head, dismissing her sister’s glib quip as she continued, “I cannot do things in half measures. And this is no exception. I want it to be as wonderful for her as it is for me. I want—perfection isn’t the right word for it, because I know perfection is unattainable, but something close to that. I want…a sense of grandeur.”

Circe hummed in understanding. Because she truly did understand her sister and the way her mind worked. Hecate didn’t desire grandeur for her ego or even some conflated ideal of romance she’d created—no, she wanted only the best for the woman she loved, only the greatest romance would do, to adequately convey her feelings. That was one of the things that astounded Circe most about her sister: Hecate’s capacity for love, be it platonic or romantic. Her need to erase all doubt that she cared, to prove it beyond anything else, over and over again.

“So, then, what’s the issue?” Circe was still slightly confused. From what little she’d witnessed, Ada Cackle certainly returned her sister’s giddy delight, if their little supposedly-secret glances and smiles were anything to go by.

“A first dance surrounded by gawking children doesn’t exactly fit into that category,” Hecate admitted quietly, feeling like an idiot. It was stupid, to be upset over something like that, she knew. But that knowledge didn’t lessen her feelings on the matter. “I wanted…something more.”

“Then make it something more,” Circe returned easily.

“It’s not the same.” Hecate’s face contorted in a mixture of unease and sadness. “There will never be another first dance for us.”

“True. But there will also never be another second dance.”

Hecate considered her words, couldn’t deny their logic. She looked over at Circe, who was grinning like a madcap.

“I’m right, you know I am,” Circe needled, ever the annoying little sister. Hecate merely smiled. Then she leaned over and gently kissed her temple, like she’d done for a thousand nights in her childhood.

“Run along,” she commanded. “I have work to do.”

Circe scooped up the hare, who’d been exploring the battlement, and headed back inside. Then she stopped, looking back at her sister, “And Heck?”

“Hm?”

Her grin was absolutely impish. “You can thank me later—preferably in the form of an absolutely smashing Yuletide present.”

This earned her an eyeroll. Still, she had one last arrow in her quiver, and she was never one to let a good laugh go to waste. "And I have to admit—until you mentioned the dancing bit, I thought we were talking about Dimity Drill."

She ducked and hurried into the stairwell, before her elder sister could think of a spell to cast in retaliation.

* * *

 

Ada’s irritation at Hecate’s odd behavior had practically dissipated from the moment Hecate had left the great hall—her plea for forgiveness had been heartbreaking, and Ada had immediately wanted to rush after her, but she’d known that Hecate had needed space in that moment.

But the moment had passed, and now Hecate couldn’t be found, not even with a locating spell. Ada felt a prickle of worry on her skin. Had this somehow been an even bigger issue than she’d realized? Why on earth would Hecate hide from her like this?

Circe seemed unconcerned whenever Ada mentioned Hecate’s absence, so Ada tried to follow suit. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her office, aimlessly moving from one spot to the next, attempting to read a book with little success and occasionally sending out a locating spell, just in case Hecate had dropped whatever shield she’d cast over herself (which was met with about as much success as her efforts to distract herself).

After the events of the past month, Ada had thought they were past all the awkward hesitancy. With a wry smile, she realized she shouldn’t have ever assumed to be able to predict Hecate Hardbroom. But things had been so lovely, so forward-moving, it had been an absolute dream.

Anytime they were together, Hecate was touching her. Never anything beyond the most innocent of touches, but Ada didn’t care. It was still Hecate, still touching her, still _wanting_ to touch her. It filled Ada with a sense of calm joy—and also a feeling of being absolutely sheltered, protected in a way that she’d never felt before.

She hadn’t returned that same favor to Hecate, she realized. Granted, she’d told herself not to—she’d wanted to keep Hecate from feeling as if things were moving too quickly, from feeling overwhelmed or trapped or even mildly uncomfortable. But maybe…maybe it hadn’t helped the situation as much as Ada thought. She knew her deputy was a woman plagued with self-doubt and feelings of unworthiness. Had Ada’s lack of initiative been misinterpreted? Had Hecate somehow convinced herself that Ada was merely enduring her advances, rather than enjoying them?

Perhaps Hecate wasn’t the only one who needed to better her communication skills.

The thought of being more vocal in her approval of Hecate’s affections sent her mind down a warmer path. She thought of the night Hecate had presented her with their connection bangles. Ada had complimented her skill, completely in awe of the items before her. Hecate had flushed the most enchanting shade, and Ada had realized that compliments had a rather lovely effect on her deputy’s physical disposition.

She could spend her days, recreating that reaction. Perhaps (and maybe this was just a teeny bit wicked on her part) repaying Hecate for the delicious agony that all her touches created, perhaps adding her own fuel to the flames. It would also reassure Hecate, which of course was absolutely the point ( _but still…_ ).

It would be a delicate balance to find, Ada knew. She couldn’t come on too strong, but she couldn’t leave room for doubt. She had to encourage without demanding. Her mind whirled with possibilities, requiring a bit of effort not to simply rabbit trail down imaginings of what reactions her endeavors might produce.

The bells rang out for dinner, interrupting her planning. But she felt relief, rather than irritation. Hecate wouldn’t miss dinner. She knew that much. The woman might try to avoid her afterwards, but for almost an hour, Ada would have her by her side.

Surprisingly, Hecate was not already there when Ada transferred to the dining hall. Usually the deputy head was overly punctual, preferring to set a good example for the girls and to keep an eye on any pre-meal shenanigans.

Dimity had found a seat for Circe, wedging the extra chair between herself and Hecate’s usual spot. Ada smiled slightly, feeling the beginnings of a recipe for disaster. Circe’s lapin friend was at her feet, dozing off again. For a moment, she wondered how they’d kept the cats from coming after it, but then she remembered that Circe Hardbroom could command any animal to obedience, even ones as disobliging as cats. A powerful witch indeed.

Hecate appeared, quickly taking her seat beside Ada. There was still a nervous energy radiating from the woman’s thin frame, and Ada felt another stab of pity and remorse. She gently tapped her fork against her plate, making it seem accidental but still catching Hecate’s attention, before pushing her right elbow out slightly.

Hecate understood, because her head ducked, briefly, and her elbow easily bumped against Ada’s with comforting familiarity.

So things were going to be alright, Hecate admitted with a secret smile. Ada was still making a point to be there, even in the smallest, most mundane of ways. She waited a few moments, schooling her breathing into something less chaotic before leaning over to quietly whisper, “Ada, I—after dinner, could you—”

Ada turned to look at her, blue eyes stopping Hecate’s heart for a full beat. She blinked, trying to regain control of her senses, before quickly finishing the line she’d rehearsed a dozen times, “Could you join me in the potions lab? I want to show you the latest piece of equipment. It just came in today.”

Ada was fairly certain that the bit about equipment, while true, was for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. Still, they usually met in Ada’s office, sitting by the fire and talking long into the night. Naturally, Ada was immediately intrigued.

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Wonderful,” Hecate breathed, melting into a smile of her own.

That’s when Ada smelled the witches brew on her breath.

* * *

 

Hecate was definitely one for surprises tonight, because after dinner, she motioned towards the door. “Shall we…walk?”

She said the word uncertainly, as if she’d never spoken it aloud before. Ada felt a small bubble of affection for her deputy’s adorable foibles, though her stomach still quivered in concern. Hecate hadn’t acted out of character at dinner, but the fact that she’d been drinking beforehand was still disconcerting.

Still, Ada nodded in acquiescence, and they left the dining hall, where Circe and Dimity were already organizing the girls for a late-night snowball fight on the front lawn. The castle would be quiet for at least an hour, and that gave Ada a sense of relief—it would help Hecate, she knew, help them have this conversation that so desperately needed to happen in relative peace.

It was a full minute of walking down deserted hallways before Hecate spoke, keeping her gaze firmly locked on the stone floor beneath her. “Ada, I know…I know that I upset you, earlier today. And I didn’t mean to—I certainly didn’t _want_ to—and I’m sorry. I am so very, truly sorry—”

“Hecate,” Ada reached out to gently take the woman’s hand. “There isn’t any need for self-flagellation. I just wish…I wish you would _tell_ me when something’s wrong.”

Hecate nodded quickly, and somehow Ada knew that she was still going to rebuke herself for quite awhile, regardless of Ada’s reassurances.

“The trouble is, I couldn’t tell you—not properly,” Hecate admitted. Despite her fumbling words and trembling hands, this was easier than she’d expected. Walking had been a good plan—they were side by side, not face to face, and that lessened the sense of scrutiny and tension. She took an unsteady breath, pushing herself forward. “It’s not that I didn’t wish to dance with you—not in the least.”

“I had hoped as much,” Ada informed her, tone tinged with wryness.

Still, Hecate couldn’t let amusement take away the seriousness of the moment. She shook her head, “Ada, you don’t understand. Yes, we have time, but…everything we do for the first time is…is the last time that it’s the first time. There will be no more firsts, after that.”

Now she looked up at her headmistress, eyes wide with worry and a hint of fear. “Do you understand?”

Oh, Ada understood. She understood so well that her lungs forgot to breathe. Hecate was quietly declaring her intentions—no more firsts, no other loves. _Forever_.

“I do,” Ada assured her, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Hecate couldn’t keep her gaze any longer, instead turning her focus back to the floor as she continued. “And I…want every last first time to be memorable. To be worth it. For you.”

Ada was fairly certain that she was going to erupt into tears at any moment now. Leave it to Hecate Hardbroom to go above and beyond in all things.

“It already is memorable. Because it’s with _you_ ,” Ada squeezed Hecate’s hand tightly, as if she could transfer all her certainty into the other woman’s body through touch.

But Hecate gave a curt shake of her head. “No. You deserve more than that.”

Oh, how Ada Cackle loved this woman, with her noble intentions and her never-wavering belief in a goodness that Ada wasn’t sure she ever truly possessed. But how could she not be her best self, when someone so ardently saw that in her, every moment of every day? How could she not flourish, under such careful attention and adoration?

Ada tried to stop Hecate’s pace, tried to pull her closer, but Hecate pulled back slightly, her gaze never meeting Ada’s.

“Ada, please,” she prayed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Please, I’m not—I need to say these things, and I can’t if you’re…please, just let me finish.”

Ada merely nodded, and didn’t try to stop Hecate as they began moving forward again. She knew the price that came with Hecate’s asking, with Hecate’s attempt to be open and vulnerable, and she’d gladly accept this condition, if it meant Hecate would feel heard and understood.

Still, Hecate was clasping her hand tightly, as if drawing strength from Ada, strength that was gladly given. “When we were showing the girls how to dance—all I could think about was how this wasn’t supposed to be how we had our first dance. How wrong it was. How I couldn’t—I couldn’t give you what you deserved, what I wanted to give you, in that moment.”

She looked up at Ada again, “How could I say even that, aloud, in a room full of people?”

Ada felt her mouth go completely dry at the darkness in Hecate’s gaze, the sheer force of her distress and the equally dark delight in knowing that she was the one responsible for such a reaction.

“I see,” was Ada’s only response. And truly, she did see—that wasn’t the kind of thing you casually admitted in a room full of people, much less a room full of your students.

“And I know I didn’t handle it well,” Hecate continued, her words coming quickly now. “And I know I must have hurt you, confused you, and I never wanted that, I could never want that, not ever, not for you, and I wish, Ada, I do wish I could be more—”

“You are exactly enough,” Ada stopped her. Yes, she’d promised to let Hecate say everything she needed to say, but she wouldn’t let Hecate put herself down in the process. “Please, Hecate, don’t ever even think you’re not enough.”

It wasn’t a spell, able to immediately cure the way Hecate had been conditioned to view herself, but it was a start. Goddess above, Ada Cackle would happily dedicate her life to ensuring Hecate Hardbroom learned to see how marvelous she truly was.

Hecate merely shook her head, as if unable to believe Ada’s words. But she did, deep down. She believed because Ada had said them. Because she trusted Ada, above all others. However, it was important to own up to one’s actions. “I still hurt you, Ada. And I still regret it, deeply.”

Ada didn’t fight her, not on that one. Hecate needed to be heard, and as long as she wasn’t berating herself, Ada would let her speak. Instead, she waited, letting Hecate find her next words.

They were outside the potions lab now, and Hecate stopped for a moment, nervous energy returning to radiate off her frame in waves. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then simply turned back to the door.

Ada’s heart rippled with intuition. Hecate moved forward slowly, still full of fear and uncertainty as she guided Ada inside.

Ada couldn’t stop the gasp escaping her lips. The potions lab had been completely transformed. Dark purple clouds, tinged with notes of deepest red, shifted and rippled at the edges of the room, obscuring the more mundane sections in shadow, like a gossamer curtain. Overhead, the ceiling shimmered with a navy night sky, crystalline stars winking and glittering like diamonds. Hecate’s desk had been pushed aside, leaving more room in the center—a nicely sized ballroom for two. And on the desk shone a phonograph, crafted from silver and cedar.

“It’s yours,” Hecate admitted softly, when she noticed Ada’s gaze. “It came today. I had planned to wait until Winter Solstice but…given the circumstances, it seemed appropriate to bring it out a few days early.”

Ada moved forward to inspect her gift, never letting go of Hecate’s hand. The potions mistress still kept her distance, standing slightly behind Ada, as if she feared seeing her reaction.

“Oh, Hecate, it’s exquisite.” Ada meant it, still overwhelmed by every detail of this beautiful gesture. Then, turning back to her deputy with a warm smile, she added, “I’m sure the acoustics in here are equally wonderful.”

Hecate ducked her head with a smile—and Ada suddenly knew that her absence during the afternoon (or at least a good portion of it) was due to meticulously crafting this surprise and ensuring that every element was in proper working order.

For Ada. Only for Ada, all for Ada, always for Ada. The blonde was certain that she’d never been so thoroughly loved in all of her life.

“It does sound quite nice,” Hecate admitted.

“I’m sure it’s more than nice,” Ada countered easily. Then, with a happy sigh, she returned her attention to the stars swirling above them. “Oh, Hecate, you are a wonder.”

The woman was blushing now, too flustered to even wave away the compliment. She gently disengaged her hand from Ada’s, moving forward to delicately place a record on the phonograph. Ada’s chest burbled with happiness as she watched her sweet deputy’s movements, the airiness of her fingers as she set the needle on its track, the easy way her body moved, suddenly certain that her gift had been received and understood.

Then, with a breathless smile, Hecate turned back to Ada, offering her hand. Had there ever been a sweeter sight, in all the history of the world?

Ada accepted, let herself be led to the center of the room, let Hecate delicately arrange their hands again (Ada knew perfectly well where to put her hands, but she was too entranced to point that out), let Hecate slowly guide her into the waltz with a measured precision that both delighted and surprised her.

With a deep breath, Hecate emotionally pushed herself forward again, letting her regret and remorse propel her into action. She stopped using words, those fumbling things that never could quite encompass all her thoughts and feelings, and let her actions speak instead.

She let her hand rest more comfortably on Ada’s waist, let it move further down, to the curve of her hip, making sure she kept the pressure, spreading her fingers wider, taking more of Ada into her grasp. She let her other hand, clasped around Ada’s, become gentle and loving, her thumb caressing whatever skin it could find purchase on. And she let her body move closer, closer than she’d allowed during their demonstration, closer than was necessary or even conducive to a proper waltz.

Ada Cackle was fairly certain that she might faint, in that moment. And once again, she was struck with clarity as she reprocessed Hecate’s actions from earlier that day. How could Hecate look at her, when this was what she’d been thinking of doing? How could her prim and proper deputy possibly maintain poise and control and still smile and act nonchalant, while being tortured with Ada’s closeness and yet unable to act upon it? Hecate’s hesitancy had been fear of her own actions, what she might do, what she might not be able to control, with Ada in her arms.

The idea of Hecate Hardbroom, absolute commander of self-control, being on the verge of losing it all over something as simple as having her hand on Ada’s fully-clothed body, made her lungs tremble and her entire body spark with electricity.

And that was when Ada Cackle knew that they were in trouble deep, for certain. The best, most delicious kind of trouble one could imagine.

It was easy, dancing with Hecate. She didn’t have to think about her steps (though goodness knows, she’d waltzed enough times in her life, she should be able to do it without thought), didn’t have to think about anything but the warm weight of Hecate’s hand on her hip, the friction of her thumb on her skin, the scent of Hecate’s perfume and the simple sounds of her breathing.

When she finally collected herself enough to look into Hecate’s eyes, she was lost all over again. She became a butterfly on the pin, the only thing that existed in this little universe, the center of the most delightfully intense focus she’d ever witnessed.

There was love, and adoration, yes, and…curiosity. Hecate was watching her with a sense of clinical keenness, as if she still wasn’t sure how Ada felt about all this.

Ada remembered her earlier revelation that she needed to improve her communication skills as well. And Hecate had been so brave, giving her this, baring her feelings so openly. She deserved all the things she’d wanted for Ada, too. And Ada wanted to give them to her, just as deeply.

So she gently turned their still-clasped hands, the new angle allowing her to place a single kiss on the back of Hecate’s hand, relishing the softness beneath her lips. Hecate’s feet faltered slightly, and Ada couldn’t help but grin at the power she had, in that moment.

“Ada,” Hecate’s voice was barely a whisper, still tinged with light admonishment. “If I break my ankle, I shall blame it entirely on you.”

The blonde laughed at that, happy to find Hecate smiling warmly as well. Emboldened by the response, she moved her own hand Hecate’s waist, bringing their bodies closer. “Then I’ll be sure to keep you steady.”

She was rewarded by blushing cheeks, fluttering eyelids, and a deepening smile that lit up the darkness like a full moon.

They continued in silence, having no need for words as they kept time to the music, the clouds and stars swirling around them like a soft kaleidoscope—though they didn’t notice them at all, too cocooned in a world of glances and smiles. It took them several moments to even notice that the record had stopped playing.

Hecate Harbroom had to admit that as far as second dances went, it was a rather grand one.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun facts:  
> Orange candles symbolize new beginnings, joy and celebration, while white symbolizes blessings and unity. Orange is traditionally for Samhain and white is for Yule, but I feel like Dimity would probably be a bit flexible because...Dimity.  
> I always picture Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Circe, because she's perfection.


End file.
